


i learned that love tastes good (you shoved it in my mouth)

by Cirkne



Series: would it really kill you if we kissed [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Soulmates, the rating is for the swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: The way they are destined to be together and the way he is not destined to be with them.OrRichie and Eddie have identical soulmate marks and Stanley doesn't have one at all.





	i learned that love tastes good (you shoved it in my mouth)

Before everything, before marks of flower fields and far away mountains, before two boys with sunflowers on their shoulder blades, before a campfire just above a delicate wrist and then waves just above another wrist and before a honeycomb on the top of a forearm, Stanley thinks he’s in love with a stutter and the bluest eyes a five year old has ever seen. 

His parents never tell him, never sit him down at the kitchen table where they have all the other serious talks. They never say: _you were not made to be loved_ but he learns, eventually. His teachers say that it doesn’t make him less of a person but Stanley’s skin is all negative space and his body is all rough angles and people notice the absence of his mark before they even learn his name.

So he grows not trusting his own body, hates the shape of his ribs, hates his skinny fingers and bitten down lips, hates his curly hair. Learns to watch birds with the same patience and quietness he sits with at the dinner table, never looks at the bathroom mirror, keeps his window open.

He falls out of whatever childish affection he felt towards Billy eventually. Listens to him talk about Beverly and later about Ben, too, like they hung up the stars in the sky. It makes sense, of course, but it makes him long for that sort of love. Complete adoration and desperation except you’re not really desperate if they feel the same way. And they feel the same way, obviously, how could they not. The three of them were destined to be. Fire, water and earth. They will never need anyone but each other. And Stanley learns that, too. Learns to know when he is not needed. Learns to live with a longing in his bones that will never go away.

*

Stanley learns true desperation the night after he turns sixteen. They’re in his backyard and it’s nearing one am now and they’re all getting tired, cold night wind never kind to them. The stars look beautiful, though. The stars look beautiful and Richie is laughing, splayed out on the grass. Ben and Bill are already inside and Mike’s almost asleep, head on Beverly’s shoulder. And Richie is laughing and Eddie walks out of the house with blankets in his arms and sits down between him and Richie, throws a blanket on him, wraps one around his and Stanley’s shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Stan," Eddie whispers, finds his hand under the blanket, leans into him. He smells like strawberries and hand soap and he's warm more than anything else and he's always been like this but tonight it feels different. Bigger. He holds Stanley's hand and Stanley thinks he'll die before he ever lets go. 

"Yeah, happy birthday, dude," Richie adds moments later like he’s making a joke but his words are soft and quiet in a way that never fit him and his eyes are closed, like he doesn't care about the sky. He could go inside if he doesn't, Stanley thinks, in a weirdly protective way like Richie’s dismissiveness towards the stars is somehow wrong. He doesn't. Moves to rest his head on Eddie's lap, eyes still closed and Eddie drops his hand to play with Richie's hair, keeps the other one in Stanley’s and Stanley thinks he never wants to be anywhere that they are not with him. And then he thinks _oh_ and Richie has stopped laughing but Stanley might as well start. 

He's with them in the dark of his own backyard, just a few hours after he turned sixteen and he's thinking about how he will never feel alive if they are not right by his side. So he might as well start laughing. There’s nothing but the wind and them and then Eddie leans down and presses his lips to Richie's forehead. Squeezes Stanley's hand. Or crying. He doesn't know anymore.

*

This is how it goes. There is a princess locked in a tower and no one ever comes to save her because the princes find each other on their way there and they decide she's not worth it. 

Or. There is a princess locked in a tower and before Stanley can come save her another prince already has so they don't need him anymore.

Or. There is a princess and Stanley's the evil stepmother. Or the evil witch. Or both. The prince saves the princess. Or the princess saves herself and Stanley is left in the tower alone. 

Or. There are no princesses and no princes. There are no fairy tales and metaphors to hide behind. It's him and his best friends that he loves and then his best friends that he's in love with and there are soulmates and marks and there's the feeling of being lonely when you're not alone. 

There's learning to drive and passing cigarettes around and skipping class to go swimming and then skipping class to sit by the water because it's way too cold to swim and there are his hands and their hands and the way they all fit with each other, even Mike who's not destined for them but still destined for _someone_. 

And there's a world in which people like Henry Bowers have soulmates and he doesn't. He stays up thinking about it sometimes. Wonders what's so wrong about him. Wonders if there's a world in which there are no marks and no soulmates and he doesn't constantly feel like they will leave him. 

*

They're by the barrens. Richie, Eddie and him. Bill's supposed to pick up Ben and Mike and get there too and Beverly's out of town this weekend, visiting the extended family her aunt left behind in Portland after they moved back here. 

Richie's skipping rocks. Failing at skipping rocks. Eddie keeps laughing at him and Richie keeps saying: _if you're so fucking good at it, do it, Kaspbrak_ and Eddie keeps agreeing but doesn't move from where he and Stanley are sitting on a fallen down tree. Stanley wonders why he's always left with them two. Like the universe knows and wants to make fun of him. Remind him he will never have what he wants. Shove it in his face. 

"Fuck!" Richie yells, annoyed and throws the rocks he had in his hands at the water and Eddie laughs harder and then moves to give Richie space though there's already enough space so he's kind of just moving closer to Stanley. "I hate these stupid fucking rocks. They're rigged." 

"Rocks can't be rigged, Richie," Stanley says. He's still looking at the water. Pretending he's looking at the water. Eyes unfocused.

"Not what your dad said last night," Richie answers. Stanley blinks. There's a comeback somewhere but he's too out of it to think of it.

"Funny," he says instead. Links his fingers together. Wonders why Bill, Ben and Mike haven't gotten here yet.

There's a beat of silence and then Eddie:

"Stan, you ok?" 

"Yeah."

"You sure, buddy?" Richie asks. Stanley wants to tell him not to call him that but he feels like he'd be parroting Eddie. He lifts his feet up on the long, rests his chin on his knees. It's not as comfortable as he hoped it would be but shifting again would make him seem nervous. He asks:

"What do you think my mark would be if I had one?" the water is almost louder than him. They don't answer for a moment and he closes his eyes, lifts his hands to the back of his neck. "Forget it," he says. "It doesn't matter." 

"What would you like it to be?" Eddie. 

_Sunflowers._

"I don't know. Birds? I like birds."

"Birds make sense," Eddie agrees, softly. There's shuffling and Richie's sitting on the other side of him. Warm against him. Quiet.

"Yeah, Stan, birds make sense. They're nature and we all have nature marks. That's why we all fit so well," he sounds uncomfortable, no jokes or swear words on his tongue. Stanley gets that. Breathes out.

"I don't," he says and almost hopes they didn't hear him.

That's what this is, he thinks. They are jigsaw pieces and he is a defect in the box so you never complete it. Maybe. Maybe he never makes it to the box and all the puzzle pieces fall together without him there.

"Stanley," they both say. Same tone. Same pity in their voice.

"Forget it," he repeats. Louder. Clearer. Wants them to think he's serious. Doesn't know if he is.

The others show up before they can press any further. He pretends that they would have.

*

Curled up on Ben’s bed he dreams of flower fields and tree branches and bird cages. Dreams of fingers in his hair and soft voices, dreams of marks and his own shoulders. When he wakes up, Richie’s laying next to him and Eddie’s on the floor, legs crossed under him and Beverly is saying something about music and smoking and revision theory, he thinks, but he’s not sure. 

Richie shifts, throws his arm over Stanley’s waist, mumbles, voice tired and heavy:

“Sleep,” like an order and Stanley listens.

*

Eddie’s head is on his stomach and they’re laying on Stanley’s bed, books in their hands. The hand radio Stanley sneaked from the kitchen is playing some song he’s never heard before. Eddie’s humming along to it, though. Eddie was supposed to go home after they finished studying but they’ve been listening to music for around an hour now. Outside, the sun is setting and they haven’t turned on the light yet. He’ll need to move to do it soon but he’s afraid that Eddie will take it as a sign to go home. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” Eddie says bringing him back to reality and Stanley blinks at his ceiling. 

“Sorry,” he mutters and feels Eddie lift his head, move up the bed to look at Stanley. He looks worried but also pretty in the low light coming through the window. His features soft, his hair messy. As messy as Eddie lets it get, anyway.

“What’s up?” he asks and Stanley bites the inside of his cheek. He’s in love with him. Has been for years. In love with his laugh and the way he rambles when he’s nervous and in love with his hands that never seem to be warm and in love with the stupid sunflowers on his shoulder blade reminding Stanley that Eddie would never be happy with him, that the only person he will ever need is Richie. 

“Nothing,” Stanley answers. Closes his eyes. “I have a headache, that’s all,” he lies. He keeps lying to them. Can’t think of anything else to do. 

“Want me to go?” Eddie asks. Soft. Stanley rests the book he was reading, still open, on his chest. Breathes out. Wishes, really hard, that he was selfless enough to say yes. Instead he opens his eyes again and whispers:

“I’d rather you stay,” and tries not to let his breath catch when Eddie lays down next to him, rests his head on Stanley’s shoulder. 

“Want me to read to you?” Eddie asks. Stanley swallows, hyper aware of his body and the way his chest is rising and falling with his breathing and the way his skin goes warm where Eddie is touching him, even with their clothes between them. 

“Yeah,” Stanley breathes and falls asleep somewhere around the second paragraph. 

When he wakes up, Eddie has turned on the light and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows pressed to his knees, face in his hands.

“Eddie?” Stanley croaks before clearing his throat. “You okay?” Eddie turns to him immediately, small smile on his lips.

“Yeah, of course, just tired. Need to get home before my mom sends out a search party.”

“Oh,” Stanley says, lifts himself up. “Sorry I kept you here for so long.”

“No, I didn’t wanna go home anyway,” Eddie answers and turns away from Stanley. “Have to now, though,” he stands up before Stanley can say anything else. There’s nothing he could really say anyway since all he wants is to ask Eddie to stay and he knows that’s not fair, so. “Goodnight,” Eddie says and walks out of Stanley’s room.

“Goodnight,” Stanley calls after him. Feels like he’s missing something. 

*

There are sunflowers growing on Mike’s farm. There are sunflowers and there’s Richie and Eddie, holding hands and leaning into one another to whisper. And Mike keeps looking at him and he probably understands better than all the others do but still not quite and he doesn’t know, none of them do but he looks at Stanley like it’s obvious, like he has never been subtle about the lack of air in his lungs. 

Stanley tries his hardest not to watch them. Says it’s nothing when Mike asks him why he keeps spacing out. Imagines himself with them. Imagines himself in sunflower fields and his hands in theirs and sunlight in their hair and all three of them smiling. He loves them and he swallows it down. Hates sunflowers. Tries to hate sunflowers. Thinks of their shoulder blades and the way they are destined to be together and the way they look surrounded by yellow and feels fond. Hates himself more than anything.

“Show me the vegetables?” he asks Mike, only half fakes interest and is led away from the flowers. Except, of course, he can still see them from anywhere Mike takes him. Like he was always supposed to find them in his vision. Peripheral yet solid, unmoving. He closes his eyes and they’re still there, it seems.

*

They’re at the back of the school just before classes start, Beverly, Richie and him, smoke escaping their lips as they speak. Richie’s hands are covered in bandaids and he keeps forgetting to flick off the ash and Stanley keeps reminding him, like it matters, and Beverly keeps smiling at them.

“We should just skip bio, no one likes it anyway,” she says to Richie, throws her head back to get imaginary hair out of her eyes. She grew it out to her jaw before she cut it again just a few weeks ago. There’s barely enough to run your fingers through now. Soft red against her pale white skin. She’s pretty and sometimes Stanley thinks about her in that way. About her freckles and blue eyes and the way she smiles when she sees Ben or Bill and then Stanley stops himself. Bites the inside of his cheek. Keeps doing that. Can’t help thinking about Richie, though. His lips and collarbones and his voice and-

And it’s wrong to think of him like this. He has a soulmate. They all do. Most of them _found_ their soulmates and he’s just here, filling space next to them, smoking Beverly’s cigarettes, wishing he was made for them, made for someone- anyone, but he’s not and he needs to come to terms with it before they leave him.

When he starts listening again, they’re talking about something else and he doesn’t know if they decided to skip biology after all. Probably not. They’re all talk these days. Graduation is nearing and there’s no way they’re risking their chance to leave this horrible town. Stanley doesn’t know where he’ll go yet but he knows he will. Derry has nothing to offer after they graduate. It had nothing before that, too.

So they’re making escape plans. Drawing out metaphorical maps on college applications and rent prices and bus tickets. Drawing out paths that have stopped leading their way to each other somewhere around Portland. That’s a lie. They have stopped leading their way to _him_ because he was never meant to be with them. He bites the inside of his cheek. Closes his eyes. Breathes out the last of the cigarette smoke in his lungs and throws the butt at the trashcan. 

“Aw, Stan, you fucking suck,” Richie says when he misses and bends to pick it up, throws it out together with his own cigarette. Beverly starts walking back towards the front of the school and Stanley wipes his pants in case they got dirty from him leaning on the wall. 

“You suck,” he answers, follows Beverly and Richie catches up in a moment, grins, winks and says, looking way prouder of himself than he should be:

“You bet,” Stanley rolls his eyes, pushes at Richie’s side and Richie grabs his hand to not fall. Stanley waits for him to let go but Richie just squeezes it and keeps walking. 

Bill’s waiting for them at the entrance, sitting on the stairs, jacket sleeves pushed back to his elbows and his mark, green as ever, making fun of Stanley in the sunlight. 

“Aw, you waiting for us, Billy boy?” Richie asks as Beverly gives him her hand to help him stand up.

“Waiting f-for B-Ben,” Billy answers, rests his hand on Beverly’s waist and Stanley watches Richie roll his eyes.

“Come on, Stanley, let's give these losers time to be affectionate and gross as if they hadn’t seen each other yesterday,” and he pulls Stanley past them towards the doors of the school.

“As if you and Eddie are any better,” Beverly calls after them and Stanley smiles to himself. She’s right but he fears if he said it Richie would be fake offended enough to let go of his hand so he doesn’t. 

Eddie’s standing by their lockers, pulling at his shirt collar. He looks nervous and Stanley’s about to ask what’s wrong when Richie says:

“Sup, Eds, missed you,” and leans in to kiss him just to be pushed away.

“Not right after you smoked, asshole,” Eddie says but he doesn’t sound as annoyed as he’d like to. 

“But, Eddie, I’ll die,” Richie whines, but he’s moving, letting go of Stanley’s hand to open his locker. Stanley blinks. Looks down at his hand and tries not to feel disappointed. Before he really can, though, Eddie’s rolling his eyes, grabbing Stanley’s hand and saying:

“Come on, Stanley, let's go to class.”

*

They show up at his window at two am on a school night and they say:

“Sneak out with us.” Well, Richie says it. Eddie’s playing with the zipper of his jacket. 

“If my father finds out he’ll murder me,” Stanley tells them but he’s already grabbing a sweater from the floor and jumping into his shoes and opening his window wider to climb out.

They end up driving around, the road illuminated by the streetlights and all the houses they pass dark and silent. 

“Really thought you’d put up more of a fight,” Eddie says from the passenger’s seat. They haven’t turned on the radio yet. Stanley quietly hopes they don’t, runs a hand through his hair.

“Me too,” he says and Eddie turns to look at him. For a moment it seems he’s going to say something and then he smiles and Stanley smiles back and Richie speeds up. 

*

They keep doing it. Both of them. They keep grabbing his hand and touching his shoulder while they’re having lunch and running their hands through his hair on Bill’s couch. They keep inviting him places. Keep going to school in Richie’s car with Stanley in the back seat. Keep talking about seeing movies. Keep falling asleep with him and next to him. And Stanley- 

Stanley keeps getting lost in it. Keeps thinking about them and about him. Keeps thinking about their lips and his lips and about the way they look when they’re happy and about all the ways he could fit his body in between theirs as they slept. And he keeps wanting to say: _stop before I can no longer let go of you two_ but never does. He thinks it’s probably too late anyway. He was never good at giving up things he wants and he wants this more than anything else.

It’s raining now and he’s sitting on the windowsill in Richie’s room, cigarette in hand. Mike’s on the floor, arms under his head and Ben’s leaning into him, saying something about flowers. Stanley looks at the way Mike watches him and wonders if maybe Mike understands wanting what you can’t have better than he thought. It’s not the same, still, but he wonders and then he turns back to the outside. Most of his cigarette is going to the wind rather than his lungs but he mostly smokes out of habit anyway so it doesn’t matter. Downstairs, Beverly and Bill are trying to pick a movie out of the collection in the living room and Eddie was already in the shower when they all got here, about ten minutes ago. It feels domestic in a way that it shouldn’t. Or exactly in the way it should. He never knows.

Richie walks up to him. Sits on the other side of the window, takes the cigarette out of his fingers and Stanley doesn’t protest like he usually would. The rain has always made him calmer. 

“Oy, what you thinking about, chap?” Richie asks. He’s doing one of his voices and Stanley rolls his eyes though he’s not sure Richie can even see his eyes at this angle. 

“Soulmates,” he answers, easy, wonders when Bill and Beverly will call them downstairs. Out of the corner of his eye, watches Richie smoke.

“You know it’s all bullshit, right?” he asks, smoke leaving his mouth. Stanley smiles, follows a car driving down the street with his eyes.

“Sure,” he says and bites down the urge to add: _you and Eddie look happy_.

There’s a pause before Bill is opening the door to Richie’s bedroom, saying:

“We p-picked a movie if y-y-you g-guys wanna start.” Stanley starts to move to get off the windowsill but Richie turns, cigarette still lifted to his lips.

“You guys go set up and shit, we’ll wait for Eddie,” and Bill nods like it’s a completely normal thing that Stanley waits for Eddie too, like he has always been part of this.

He watches them leave and then he turns back to the street. Mike closes the door behind him. Richie takes another drag of his cigarette. Stanley waits.

“I mean it,” Richie says eventually like nothing happened. “Eddie and I found each other, sure, but everyone makes it out to be this fucking amazing thing where you don’t have to try and you do. We still fight and I still don’t fucking know how to comfort him but I’m learning and every time I do something good it’s the best feeling in the world and you shouldn’t be deprived of that just because you don’t have some bullshit mark because it’s not about that, okay? It’s about loving someone and about trying and if someone loves you it doesn’t matter if you share a mark or not.”

Stanley wants to laugh at how ridiculous all that sounds and he turns to Richie to say as much but then he stops because Richie is looking at him like there’s more he wants to say. And he’s looking at him and Stanley thinks _oh_ like the time he was sixteen and was hit with the realization that he’s in love and he thinks _oh_ again and again and again and all the laughter dies in his chest. 

He swallows and then, very quietly, says:

“I have to go,” but Richie grabs at his wrist before he can even move.

“Don’t,” he says, rushed and then: “Please,” and he sounds as desperate as Stanley has felt for years and every part in Stanley’s body is telling him to run. Go home. Hide. Ignore this until it goes away but Richie is still looking at him and his fingers are still wrapped around Stanley’s wrist, gentle. Not really holding him in place, just holding him.

Stanley breathes in. Breathes out.

“Okay,” he says. “But we should probably wait for Eddie.”

Richie snorts and his lips curl in a half smile. 

“Yeah,” he says, shakes his head a little. Throws what’s left of the cigarette out the window. 

They sit in silence, Richie’s warm fingers on Stanley’s wrist, until Eddie shows up. He opens the door with his hair damp from the steam and one of Richie’s T-shirts clinging to his skin and pants that are probably his, though Stanley’s not sure and Richie blurts:

“I told him,” before Eddie can even say hello to Stanley. Eddie startles for a second and then he rolls his eyes and walks over to Richie’s bed to rest the clothes he was presumably wearing before he showered on the corner of it.

“I fucking knew you’d tell him, trashmouth,” he says, folding the clothes. Stanley wants to ask him to stop, god, this is _important_ but he knows Eddie.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” he says instead. Richie throws him a look.

“I implied it.”

“I guess. Your implication was shit, though,” yet he can hardly hide his smile.

“Hey, you got it and that’s all that matters,” Richie answers. Eddie looks up from his clothes, finally. Rest a hand on his hip. Stanley almost laughs.

“If you two are gonna argue like this,” Eddie says but he breaks into a grin before he can finish, walks towards them. Like all the three of them can do now is smile.

“How long have you been planning this?” Stanley asks and he pushes himself off of the windowsill but stays with his back against it, wind on the back of his neck. Watches the way Eddie leans into Richie and then the way he reaches out his hand for Stanley and Stan goes without thinking about it, presses his hip to Richie’s thigh, his hand in Eddie’s.

“You make it sound like we were conspiring against you,” Richie accuses and Stanley wants to say: _You were_ but Eddie speaks before he can.

“We’ve liked you for a while. Didn’t know if you liked us back so we didn’t- you know. Richie wasn’t supposed to tell you tonight, we were supposed to be alone and somewhere _nice_ but-” he breaks off to look at Richie, nothing but love in his eyes. “but he’s Richie. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“I’m gay and impulsive, Eddie, you can’t blame” Richie says, throws one of his arms over Eddie’s shoulders. Stanley laughs and then realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, how they look, next to an open window and Eddie is still wet from the shower and he’ll get sick if they stay here long and he probably knows it but he’s risking it for this and Stanley laughs more, closes his eyes and leans into them.

“I love you,” he says.

“We love you too, Stanley,” Richie says, sincere as ever.

“You’ll get sick if we don’t close the window,” Stanley tells Eddie after a moment, opens his eyes and Eddie is looking at him again, grinning, eyes filled with the same fondness as when he’s looking at Richie and it almost takes Stanley’s breath away but then Eddie is standing on the tips of his toes and putting his hands on Stanley’s face and kissing him and that _really_ takes his breath away.

Richie wolf whistles and they both hit him at the exact same time.

“Aw, you assholes, I could have fallen out the window,” he says but he only sounds fond and Eddie and Stanley pull away and roll their eyes at the exact same time and it makes Stanley laugh again, bubbly happiness rising from his chest.

“We’re closing it,” Eddie says when they’re done grinning at each other and when he moves to do so, Richie jumps off the windowsill, pulls Stanley in for a kiss of his own. He doesn’t need to put effort into reaching him and he keeps his hands on Stanley’s shoulders instead of his face and Stanley thinks he can get used to this. To them. To the ways they’re different and the ways they’re not. 

He can’t stop smiling. Even when they’re finally downstairs and watching the movie and he’s sitting between them and Richie keeps making shitty comments and Eddie keeps telling him to shut it. Stanley keeps smiling. 

It feels like for the first time since he found out about soulmates, he’s not left yearning. He thinks maybe he was made to be loved after all and then he falls asleep in the middle of them and dreams of sunflowers.

**Author's Note:**

> yall can rip soulmate aus out of my cold dead hands
> 
> title from bae by the front bottoms 
> 
> come talk to me @ safebird.tumblr.com or whatever


End file.
